


until earth swallows bone

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Also Thancred Realizing He Likes Being A Sub, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Thancred Waters, Cock Bondage, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Unrequited Feelings, Inapprporiate Use of Magic, It Takes A While But He Gets It, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multiple Orgasms, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Bowl of Embers, Promiscuity, Service Top, Submissive Thancred Waters, Thancred Realizing He Likes It Rough, Threesome - M/M/M, Work In Progress, soft dom, thangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: For we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.We are good people, and we’ve suffered enough.The Warrior of Light does not take well to being treated as a burden, and takes it upon himself to teach Thancred the resulting lesson. Thancred's just along for a very pleasant -- but difficult -- ride. In more ways than one.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Comments: 9
Kudos: 120





	until earth swallows bone

Being pulled into one of the many infrequently used yet conveniently placed storage rooms in the Waking Sands is not, in fact, a particularly uncommon occurrence for Thancred. On more than one occasion, one of his paramours would sneak in to snatch him for a heated encounter away from prying eyes and ears.

Even though he’s not _particularly_ in the mood, he can hardly let his reputation be tarnished, now can he?

The easy smile, a teasing and veiled lewd remark on his lips that catches in his throat when he realizes that it’s _not_ one of his many paramours who has so unceremoniously pulled him into the storage room.

He feels oddly frozen — the script having been uncomfortably turned on him — as the very adventurer that he helped to recruit to the Scions, just recently returned from felling Ifrit, gives him one of those near-patented stern, pale-eyed looks as he pushes Thancred up against the wall by the door, which closes with a very final sounding click.

It’s a very difficult position to be in, because the guilt is still there and hovering under the surface. After all, he would not have been in such a dangerous scenario or had to face a primal alone had Thancred gotten there just a _little_ quicker, been only a _little_ more prepared. It was his fault and… he needs to apologize for that.

The apology is on the tip of his tongue — glib and easy, to hide the guilt because he can’t let anyone know his true feelings. Not on this matter, nor any other.

“Save your apologies,” he says, interrupting Thancred before he can let the apology slip. His voice is rough, deep, and rumbles a little as he talks — a little bit like he’s about to growl at Thancred. “I’m not interested in listening to you wallow in guilt of your own making.”

_Shit_.

There had been the tiny, wane hope that he had not heard his confession to Minfillia about his failings regarding Kythelle’s safety. Given that Kythelle has proven quite prone to sharp, disapproving looks, Thancred hadn’t given too much thought to the one he received as he left the antecedent’s office. They hadn’t known each other particularly long, so he had hoped that his guilt and the overwhelming weight that he carries would slip past him unnoticed.

Kythelle is still looking at him sharply, his pale eyes a little unnerving, “I thought you would have understood by now that I am _not_ some dithering maid in need of someone to come to their rescue. But since you seem to believe so, then let me show you that is _not_ the case.”

“I never—”

Kythelle raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Are you going to try and explain that _isn’t_ the case, then?”

He very nearly chokes at the thigh pressing between his legs, wedging up close against his crotch at the same moment that Kythelle pins his wrists to the wall above his head — and Thancred feels as though he’s been knocked down a set of stairs.

That feeling only intensifies — along with the stirring of arousal in his belly — at the pulse of magic around his wrists. He hadn’t thought Kythelle particularly well-versed in binding spells, but he stands _very_ corrected. But then, he realizes a little distantly, that he honestly knows very little of and about him.

Thancred, though, knows that he could easily break the spell binding and holding his wrists to the wall. But it’s so terrible distracting, the way that Kythelle is pushing his thigh up into his hardening erection which has been so terribly neglected of late that his hips are already twitching in a familiar rhythm, that he isn’t sure he could muster the needed concentration.

He’s also… rather morbidly curious about where this is going to go. While a little bit of light bondage is something that he’s intimately familiar with — though his preferences for his partners is silk ropes, rather than binding magic — he’s not used to being the one being bound.

Yet, despite his curiosity, there’s a void threatening to yawn wide open inside of him and that threatens to swallow him whole. The promised loss of control is _terrifying_ yet strangely thrilling at the same time to him. It’s not something he’s ever given up, always clung tightly to it; the control is something that he needs, because if he _isn’t_ in control, then things will go horribly wrong.

His breathing picks up, a little higher and faster than usual. He can see how Kythelle’s ears twitch, the way that his head tips a little to the side. He sucks in a deep, shaking breath, trying to find that easy smile and silky words that have always served him well.

Kythelle moves quicker than Thancred’s brain can work, leaning in and pressing up against him as he kisses him. ‘Kisses’, actually, is not the correct word for it, Thancred thinks. Kythelle’s mouth is firm, hard, and he nips — _hard_ — at Thancred’s lower lip with those absurdly sharp teeth of his. Not hard enough to break the skin, but more than enough to bring blood rushing to the area; his mouth will be left kiss-swollen and red.

It’s not a kiss, but a _claim_ and the realization of that that sends a sharp, near painful jolt of arousal down Thancred’s spine. His cock’s already harder than he can ever remember it being — though it’s hardly been touched and _that_ is a difficult thing to swallow, much less process. His control has always been such a point of pride for him and that it could so easily be shattered leaves him weak in the knees.

Kythelle fists a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. Just hard enough for a hint of pain to skitter across his senses, pulling Thancred closer and tipping his head to a better angle and Thancred cannot help but let out a small noise into the kiss.

His parted lips must be permission enough, because Kythelle’s tongue sweeps into his mouth. As terrible a metaphor as it is, all that Thancred can liken it to is his mouth being plundered; Kythelle’s tongue is a little rougher than what he’s used to, an assurance and confidence that not even Thancred’s most experienced lovers have ever mustered.

When he tries to return the favor, weakly tries to wrestle some bit of control back, Kythelle nips his tongue sharply. Clearly, it’s a warning and Thancred trembles in response to it, unsure how to respond to this show of dominance but finding himself _desperately_ wanting _more_ of it nonetheless.

His lungs begin to scream for oxygen and he feels a little light-headed by the time that Kythelle lets him breathe again. Thancred’s chest is heaving for breath, as though he’s run for malms rather than from just _being_ kissed, and he’s more than a little embarrassed to realize that he’s still grinding down on Kythelle’s thigh — a fact that he’s certain is causing Kythelle to smirk.

“I thought not,” Kythelle purrs, sounding absolutely far too pleased with himself. His voice seems to have, if possible, dropped another octave or two and the sound goes straight to Thancred’s already hard and leaking cock.

He’s running far too hot and wanting — though wanting _what_ he isn’t sure of. His head feels light and, for once, his words seem to have deserted him. But the one thing he’s certain of is that this state of his is what Kythelle had been planning for.

“Ah, good. Perhaps I was wrong; you picked it up quicker than I expected.”

“I’ve… always been a quick study.”

“I see I haven’t yet stilled that sharp tongue of yours.” Kythelle presses his thigh up, just a little more and the resulting friction and pressure against his cock is _glorious_. Yet, Thancred feels a little… chill when he looks at Kythelle, head tilted a little to the side and smirking, “Perhaps I should be putting that smart mouth of yours to better use, hm?”

It’s obvious innuendo and a line that Thancred himself has used before to great effect. And, true, he’s been complimented on more than one occasion about his ‘smart mouth’ but it sounds _very_ different coming from Kythelle who, quite clearly, has very _different_ ideas about what use he can put it to.

There’s a short-lived, but no less terrifying, spark of denial that leaps to his tongue that he has to bite back. Thancred has always thought of himself as being particularly experienced, even adventurous, sexually, but now…

His eyes drop down. It’s difficult to see, with the dim lighting in the storage room and Kythelle’s typical black attire, but he can certainly _feel_ his equally hard and erect cock pressing rather insistently against Thancred’s own thigh. He feels strangely dizzy — proud, definitely at the knowledge that he’s responsible for such a response — and very, very _hot_.

Yet, Thancred’s unused to being on the receiving end, to not being the one in control. And, though in terms of their height and build, Kythelle and him are very similar, it’s obvious in this regard that Kythelle is… well, that while he’s never thought or been told that he’s small, Kythelle is _certainly_ , ah, more _gifted_ in that area.

It’s hard to get a sense of just how different their sizes are, with Kythelle still being fully dressed but the thought of trying to… to take it in any way has his breath coming high and fast and a sharp pang of _want_ to stab through him that leaves him feeling both breathless and _deeply_ concerned. It sparks a deep-seated feeling of shame within him, that he so desperately wants for someone to take the control _just for once_ when he knows just how dangerous him losing control can be — for everyone. He can’t afford it; it would cost too much, be too dangerous, and —

Thancred’s thoughts screech to a halt, as his knees crash into the hard stone floor.

He hadn’t realized that Kythelle had pulled away, removing his leg from between Thancred’s own, and the resultant loss of support has sent him to the floor. He curses his own lack of attention and how his legs feel unsteady, and is about to try and push himself back to his feet when Kythelle pushes one booted foot up between his legs and pushes up his still clothed and _very_ erect cock till its grinding back against his own body.

He bites back a moan, shooting a dark look up at Kythelle as he fights down the very real, very strong urge to start fucking himself against Kythelle’s booted foot.

Kythelle just smiles at him — too innocent for it to be anything but — and applies a smidgen more pressure, “Cat got your tongue, Thancred?”

Any smart remark that he might make in response dies on his tongue. He grits his teeth, shaking with the suppressed urge to grind against that deliciously sweet friction, only stopped because he absolutely _will not_ demean himself like that. _You’re not an animal in heat_ , Thancred tells himself, but it sounds hollow, no matter how many times he repeats it to himself.

“Are… are you done…?” _Twelve_ , he sounds absolutely breathless. The words catch and break as he speaks them, hunched over and staring at the floor. “Let me… get up…”

“No.”

Thancred freezes, then looks up at Kythelle, wide-eyed and with an edge of panic lodged in his throat. His heart’s hammering wildly against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears, and he’s terrified of what it might mean if Kythelle does not let him up this instant and _breathe_. Whatever control he _thought_ he might have had of the situation is gone, and his own self-control is rapidly draining.

Arms crossed, Kythelle stares down at him with an air of cool distance that seems grossly out of place with what he’s been doing and done. His head cocked slightly to the side, ears almost flat to his head, and there’s fang and a growl when he speaks, “Someone needs to teach you a lesson and, at present, I’m the only one willing to make you learn.”

_Lesson?_ Thancred blinks, then scowls up at Kythelle, “And what lesson would _you_ presume to teach me?”

“Perhaps, if you’re very good, I’ll tell you,” Kythelle replies. His smile could _almost_ be cheerful, but to Thancred it’s dark and shadowed and full of something that makes him shiver — and not completely in fear. “But you need to prove that you listen well, first.”

Thancred grits his teeth, draws in a breath, and prepares to draw in the needed aether to break the binding spell that Kythelle placed on his wrists. Yet, that tiny treacherous part of himself that’s been enjoying this — being manhandled, treated roughly, and that _yearns_ to be taken — stops him from doing so.

A hand, surprisingly gentle, reaches down and startles him out of his thoughts when it cups his chin and tips his head up. Kythelle’s expression is inscrutable when their eyes meet, but yet that isn’t completely true. There’s something… soft, very sad, about the way that he looks at Thancred in that instant; pale eyes almost glowing in the dark with what Thancred can only term as _concern_.

His breath catches in his throat, the fight draining from him almost as quickly as it had risen. Certainly not helping is the painful way that his cock throbs and aches between his legs, still very erect and interested in whatever it might be that Kythelle is proposing.

Always thinking with his dick, rather than his head, Urianger had teased him on more than one occasion. It had stung, then, and it still stings now. He doesn’t like to think about the why. But that thought is neither here nor there and it seems _wholly_ inappropriate to be thinking of someone else when Kythelle is looking at him the way he is.

The guilt stabs through him, hot and quick. Thancred is many things and _faithful_ is hardly a word he would apply to himself, particularly regarding his many affairs. Kythelle has _already_ endured a greatly traumatic event; the least that Thancred can do, in this moment, is give him his full, undivided attention.

“If you _do_ want me to stop, however, I will,” Kythelle says. “Whatever you may think of me, Thancred, I will not do anything that you don’t want. All you have to do is _tell_ me.”

His heart stutters to a halt. His breath catches in his throat. There’s a strange ringing sound in his ears.

The breath he takes is a deep one, rasping against a throat gone dry. Thancred swallows thickly and wishes that he could avert his eyes. The sincerity is so clear and the sentiment so obviously tender that he feels distinctly uncomfortable and unworthy of it. He almost wishes that Kythelle had not said those words, because Thancred himself is so undeserving of such sincerity.

The guilt burns hot and putrid in his throat, like bile. Swallowing it down does nothing, except make it burn bright and hot in his stomach, the shame, too, welling with him. Kythelle has been nothing but a friend to him and Thancred has been a poor one in return — he failed him with Ifrit, perhaps he can use this as an opportunity to make it up to him. It’s a chance for him to make amends for his earlier failure.

“What,” Thancred swallows, still trembling with nerves, “would you have of me?”

Kythelle’s brow furrows, his touch remaining gentle but Thancred finds that for all his skill at reading people, he finds Kythelle to be exceptionally difficult to read. He cannot tell, for the life of him, what thoughts might be churning behind those pale eyes. Typically, it would frustrate him, worry him because it’s one more thing he cannot control, but he finds it difficult to find and summon those feelings now.

“I would have _you_.”

It’s certainly an awkward position and angle, but Kythelle bends and kisses him nonetheless. Little more than a light brush of lips, but so painfully sweet and gently that it leaves Thancred breathless. He wants, more than anything and so much that it _hurts_ , to give his all to Kythelle; everything that he is, he would lay down and bare for him.

But he resists, because he knows well the dangers in doing so. It’s so difficult, though, to resist that siren song of submission; to let go, to let someone else take control. It would be so easy, he knows, yet he struggles with simply the thought of it.

“I… I can’t do that.” His lips are trembling, he’s shaking. Thancred clenches his fists, “If I do that, I…”

“I won’t allow you to lose yourself, Thancred,” Kythelle says softly. “But there’s no need for you to be in control here; let me take care of you. I have you, Thancred, you can let go. You’re safe here, with me.”

He cups Thancred’s face between his hands, lightly brushing kisses against his lips, the corners of his mouth, along his cheeks. He even nuzzles against the spot just under Thancred’s ear, that has him arching him and choking back a moan. The fur of his ears tickle along Thancred’s jaw.

What he _wants_ to and should say, is that Kythelle is asking too much of him, that he cannot lay himself bare the way that Kythelle asks. But how can he deny him such a request? When he’s failed him as he has? Thancred feels torn, between what he desperately _wants_ , what he knows he cannot have, and the truth that he carries within him that he cannot let go of.

Too much is dependent on him, the other Scions need him too much for him to simply let go — even now. But how can he deny Kythelle in this moment? His heart is cracking, between what it so desperately wants and what he knows needs to be done.

Thancred gasps, a sharp flare of pain as Kythelle’s too sharp teeth nip at the sensitive skin below his ear — _just_ hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Kythelle chides, his teeth ghosting along Thancred’s neck reminding him of how dangerous they truly could be. “There is _nothing_ and _no one_ outside of this room. Whatever it is that you think is important, let it go. All that matters — here and now — are myself and your own pleasure. Do you understand?”

It excites him more than he likes to admit that Kythelle would even tease at leaving a mark so visible. Especially with how unwilling he has been previously with his previous lovers leaving marks on his person.

The collar he always wears is discarded to the side once Kythelle’s nimble fingers find its fastenings, leaving behind an expanse of near-untouched skin. His tongue traces along the lines of one of Thancred’s Archon tattoos, teeth teasing digging in _just a little_ and Thancred cannot help the small noise of _want_ that he makes, hips twitching forward and _oh_ but he’d forgotten about Kythelle’s foot being there.

There’s a strangled noise in his throat, that coil inside of him wound so painfully and he actually is shocked at just how close he is to coming undone in that instant. A little more pressure, he thinks, perhaps the sting of a bite and —

As though he can read Thancred’s thoughts — and he can feel the smile against his skin so, yes, he is quite certain that Kythelle is _well-aware_ of his weakened and aroused state and just where his thoughts have gone — Kythelle’s teeth sink into vulnerable flesh.

His hips jerk forward, grinding down hard and fast against Kythelle’s booted foot — he will feel the bright sting of embarrassment later, to know that he rutted against another’s foot like an animal in heat but he doesn’t have those thoughts then. There is a strangled cry of completion lodged in his throat as lights burst behind his eyes, his cock straining against the confines of his trousers, spilling his seed and staining the front of them.

Breathing heavily, his chest heaving as his orgasm finishes rocking through him, Thancred drops his head back against the wall. He lets out a soft moan when Kythelle pulls his teeth from the mark he left, licking and kissing the wound as though in contrition for leaving it. Such a soft gesture belies the violence, for Thancred can still feel the sting of the mark — broken the skin, definitely, and the resulting bruise and mark will be visible unless he acts to heal it.

Thancred feels no such urge — at least at that juncture — to do anything about it. Rather, he feels quite _pleased_ with it and there’s a not so small part of him that simply wants to leave it be. He had not thought himself to be so pleased with being marked; he had always found the idea uncomfortable — even distasteful — previously, so he’s unsure what to make of his pleasure with it _now_.

“… I understand, yes,” Thancred murmurs quietly, breath still uneven and chest heaving.

Kythelle pulls back, a sincere smile on his lips that sends Thancred’s heart fluttering and for the warmth of pleasure to blossom in his chest. He brushes his fingers along Thancred’s cheek, “Good.”

“You… you haven’t…” Thancred swallows the lump in his throat, “You’re still hard, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” Kythelle purrs, nuzzling Thancred’s neck. He crouches down, withdrawing his foot, and takes Thancred’s still bound hands in one of his, guiding them to Kythelle’s own still hard cock. “I am. Why? Would you like to do something about that?”

The embarrassment still stings at him, both that he came so quickly (and from so little) and that he did so while humping Kythelle’s boot like a common dog. Yet, it’s hard to focus or think on that as he cups Kythelle’s erection through his pants.

With the heavy fabric in the way, it’s still difficult to get an idea of Kythelle’s length and girth, but it’s clearly straining against the fabric — yearning for Thancred to touch it. But Thancred feels an odd hesitance; not so much about touching another man’s cock — certainly not, for he’s certainly taken more than one man to his bed before — but because he finds himself _desperate_ for Kythelle to give him permission, to tell him what to do.

Thancred’s never been nervous when it comes to intimate matters, not before at least. But he wants so desperately to please Kythelle that it’s near frightening in its intensity. His own pleasure has hardly been linked to his partner’s before — not that he wasn’t attentive to both his own and their wants and needs but this is _different_ — but now there’s a thread inside of him whispering that he will not know pleasure the like of which he will feel if he brings it to Kythelle.

He’s a little bit, actually, surprised to feel his own cock stirring again in interest, accompanied by an ache inside of him that he’s not felt the like of before. Ever used to being in control, even sexually, it takes Thancred more time than he would like to realize _what_ , exactly, he’s aching for.

The nerves waver inside of him, that nasty voice he knows too well telling him _you will never be good enough_ and he fears that it might be true. He’s never felt so unsure about his own ability to pleasure his partner, but he’s also _never_ been in this particular position before either.

“I…” He swallows and finds it very difficult to concentrate with how Kythelle is watching him. Or with how his hands are now at Thancred’s waist, toying with the buckle of his trousers. “I’ve not…” He clears his throat, hating his own weakness and cursing how easily Kythelle drives him to distraction, “That is, I meant to… _oh_.”

All of the breath kicks out of him. Kythelle’s hand slips inside of his wet trousers, past his small clothes, and wraps around his soft — yet twitching — cock.

Thancred jerks his own hands back from Kythelle’s groin, likely at first to try and cover himself but more because his nerves light up with pleasure that’s a hair too much for him right then. His instinct is to curl in on himself, but _Twelve have mercy_ Kythelle simply keeps touching him and his nerves light up once more.

“Ah… if you… if you do that, I’ll…”

“Hm? What will you do?” Kythelle’s voice is light and teasing and Thancred’s dick hardens further in response, which just makes him chuckle. “My, but you’re so eager… mm, should I fix that for you, then?”

Kythelle hand slips a little lower, teasing at the base of his cock and fingers brushing against his balls. Lightly, he circles Thancred’s cock with his fingers, then tightens his grip. Thancred jerks, bites on his lip to muffle the cry he wants to make.

“Come now, Thancred,” Kythelle purrs. “Don’t tell me this is enough for you to lose that silver tongue of yours.”

_Now that is just unfair…_ Thancred has to suck in a breath, “You… you are cruel… ah!”

“Hardly,” Kythelle replies. “Simply aware of what you need. But I would like to hear it, nonetheless.”

“Are — you’re trying to make me beg, aren’t you?”

“Now _that_ would be such a sweet thing to hear, coming from those lovely lips of yours.” Kythelle grins wickedly at him.

Kythelle’s hand tightens a little more around the base of his cock, enough pressure that Thancred knows will block any chance he has of orgasming. Then, there’s a familiar pulse of magic. His eyes widen, threatening to bulge straight out of his head.

“You wouldn’t — ah!”

As it turns out, Kythelle definitely would.

“That is not at all what that is intended for!” Thancred chokes out, his thighs trembling madly.

Kythelle simply shrugs a shoulder, teasingly swirling a finger around the tip of Thancred’s now bound cock, “I’ve always found it a particularly adaptable little bit of magic. Besides, it solves your problem nicely, doesn’t it?”

Thancred scowls at him, though it lacks heat, “I thought this was about _my_ pleasure? Yet here you are denying me it.”

“Only the most base, simple kind. You could easily achieve such with just your hand, am I correct?”

There’s heat chasing its way up his neck, which Thancred ignores, “I — it’s hardly the same. If you mean to make me humiliate myself further—”

“You enjoyed it, though, didn’t you?” Kythelle’s hand pulls away from Thancred’s cock, instead gripping Thancred’s hips with both hands. His mouth is back at Thancred’s neck, playing with the edges of the mark he’s already left. “It’s only humiliating because _you_ believe it is. I see nothing wrong with you chasing your own pleasure, Thancred.”

“I — I rutted against you like a common animal in heat!” Thancred splutters. “Not to mention the mess I made of my trousers. How is that _not_ humiliating?”

“But it’s only the two of us, Thancred. Whatever you want or need, is yours. You need not feel ashamed here — not with me. I will _not_ judge you, Thancred. You have my word.”

“You… are a very difficult, stubborn man,” Thancred huffs. “Who will more than likely be the death of me.”

“I have been told that on many occasion — difficult and stubborn. Also, hard to kill — _tenacious_ , was the word my father liked to use. I believe that I have proven _that_ , have I not?”

Something dark lurks behind Kythelle’s eyes as he speaks, though his tone is deceptively light. Were he not painfully aroused and bound as he is, Thancred would chase down that darkness till he finds its source, for there’s scant little that he actually knows of Kythelle. His past is an illusive mystery that he has yet to elaborate on, beyond a few veiled or cryptic remarks. While it’s a tempting rabbit hole to try and dive into to explore, Thancred has other more _pressing_ concerns at the moment.

“Is — this is all about what you overheard, isn’t it? What I said to Minfillia—”

Kythelle’s ears wiggle, perking up a bit, “About how I should never have been in that situation to begin with? That it was your fault? Oh yes, I have a _lot_ to say about that, Thancred, but it can wait. As I told you, I’m _not_ some fair, fainting maid in need of your protection; I’m your equal and more than capable of protecting myself.”

“I feel as though there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“Obviously,” Kythelle responds cheerfully. “If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t be in this particular situation, now would you?”

“This is a punishment, then? Hardly seems like one.”

“Oh, a little bit. It’s, after all, a lesson that you need to learn. And it’s not _intended_ to be painful, Thancred. Though if you make a habit of including me in your guilt, then I see no reason not to take you across my knee for it.”

_That_ makes him choke, “I’m not a child! You would dare—”

“Absolutely,” Kythelle replies, interrupting him and making his hips jerk as he circles a finger absently around the head of Thancred’s bound cock. “I’m not unreasonable, Thancred. But if you refuse to listen to me on this, then I’m afraid that you leave me little choice. Worry and concern, I can understand as a friend and more, but I will _not_ stand for you wallowing in unneeded guilt.”

“You—”

Again, that faraway look steals across Kythelle’s face, then his face hardens as does his voice, “I’m only going to say it once: Do not finish that sentence. I won’t be _nearly_ so lenient in your punishment then.”

He swallows down the rest of that sentence, realizing that to voice that sentiment will likely push him across a line that their… whatever this is might not recover from. _You know nothing of what I feel_. He swallows down the words and the bitterness, because he truly does not know that to be the case. Thancred’s not thoughtless, knows better than to speak words in anger that he will later regret, and so he swallows it down and shoves it away.

“My apologies, Kythelle,” he says, ducking his head. “I shouldn’t have — that’s not a line that I should cross, even in anger.”

“Oh, Thancred,” Kythelle murmurs. He cups Thancred’s face in his hands, tipping it up and kissing him softly. “You don’t need to apologize, but thank you.”

The guilt stabs him again. He’s wholly undeserving of Kythelle’s forgiveness in this instance, but he all he can do is accept it because he is weak and cannot bear to throw that in his face. And he’s… _frightened_ at the part of himself that perks its long-bowed head at the threat of _punishment_. Too much has happened today in such a short span of time for him to comprehend all of it; it’s easier to let himself be caught up in the moment and worry about it later.

“But I do,” Thancred says softly. He reaches up, fisting his hands in the fabric of Kythelle’s vest and gently tugging him back down to brush his lips against his again, “I shouldn’t take my temper out on you; it’s not fair to you. Would… would you let me make that up to you?”

“Mmm, that certainly is tempting… just what did you have in mind, my sweet Thancred?”

Part of him bristles at being referred to as ‘sweet’, but it’s drowned out by the part of him that’s purring in contentment at the same sentiment. It’s also difficult to concentrate on anything but Kythelle and his very presence, with him leaning over Thancred, pinning him at a slightly awkward angle to the wall and floor.

Not only that, but Thancred’s not too sure when Kythelle managed to insinuate himself between his legs. One of his hands is on Thancred’s thigh, the other supporting his weight on the floor; his tail is visibly swishing back and forth behind him, a clear sign of interest and excitement. It’s not a position that Thancred’s familiar with and there’s a touch of discomfort twigging inside of him to find himself in it; he’s still not so certain that he _likes_ this lack of control and assertive Kythelle.

Gently, Kythelle nuzzles under his chin, nipping at the skin to draw Thancred’s attention, “Come now. If you tell me, you _might_ earn yourself some relief.”

“Might? Just what would it take to convince you to release me, hm?”

“If you want to cum, Thancred, all you have to do is ask me _very_ nicely. Tell me _exactly_ what you need, I want to know.” Kythelle grins up at him, “Oh yes, I’ve certainly heard some of the sweet, lascivious things you whisper in young maid’s ears. Why don’t you turn that silver tongue of yours to telling me what you want me to do to you?”

He flushes, redder than a rolanberry, to the tips of his ears, “Oh, now that’s unfair.”

“Is it? Yet you have no problem telling others what they want to hear. Maybe what you need then is a little more encouragement to loosen your tongue, then?”

It’s honestly a little disconcerting, how quickly Kythelle is able to strip him of his smalls and trousers; discarding them somewhere over his shoulder. He had even taken the time to remove Thancred’s boots, leaving him nude from the waist down.

Certainly, he’s never been ashamed of any state of undress — particularly not in sexual situations — but this is very different to what he’s used to. Kythelle trails a hungry hand down his thigh, pulling his thighs further apart and exposing his dripping cock further, but that’s not what’s embarrassing because it also exposes _other_ parts of his anatomy that he’s not touched nor let another close to.

ragging his hand back up the inside of Thancred’s thigh, Kythelle watches as he shudders — arching up into the touch and feeling little stings of shame the way his legs seem to fall further open at the touch. Yet, Kythelle stops short of his aching, leaking cock and Thancred feels a sharp pang of disappointment. It’s followed by uncertainty and confusion.

He finds himself wanting Kythelle to reach just a little further. And touch him somewhere that no one else has yet touched.

Thancred swallows, his throat gone dry as he trembles with _want_ such that he’s not known before, “… what do you wish to hear?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Kythelle’s mouth is at his ear again, nibbling on the lobe, then catching it with his teeth and tugging at it. “I thought I was clear, Thancred. Spin me what fantasy lurks in that pretty head of yours.”

Thancred grits his teeth, “Is it not enough that you have me in such a shameful position? I’m at your mercy already.”

“Nothing shameful about _want_ , Thancred. And you should know that.” He slides a hand up Thancred’s shirt, nails dragging across the skin and muscle. He drags his mouth along Thancred’s neck, paying particular attention to the mark he already left. “You want what you want; I simply want to take care of you.”

His head snaps back against the wall when Kythelle’s fingers find one of his nipples. There’s a sharp, shocked noise in his throat, Kythelle’s fingers gently rolling and pinching his nipple till its rock hard and aching. He had not thought himself particularly sensitive there, though he should have known better.

The sensations run straight through him to his aching, weeping cock. Orgasm is _so close_ and yet he’s denied that sweet release. His hips are twitching, legs trembling, and shame washes through him because he’s not _strong_ enough to resist such a simple, teasing touch.

“… do that again,” Thancred groans.

He can feel the smile against the skin of neck, but Kythelle does what he asked: pinching his nipple just a little harder this time.

Dimly, he can recall that the storage room is _not_ sound proof and off a busy corridor in the Waking Sands. That had always made it _fun_ in other encounters, but this time is different. Painfully so. He has to keep himself from being too loud, to muffle his sounds so that no one comes to investigate and discover him in such a compromising position. He chews his lip, trying to keep himself quiet and knows he’ll need to do something about his swollen lips before he leaves, else everyone will have an inkling.

He wishes there was some friction for him to thrust up into, but he’s met with nothing but air.

“I… touch me, please.”

Thancred had thought his words obvious in their intent and meaning. That Kythelle would wrap his hand around Thancred’s cock and stroke him till he’s mad with the pleasure and likely begging for him to remove the binding spell so that he can find release.

That was what Thancred had meant. It’s not what Kythelle does.

Kythelle’s hand slips past his cock, brushing against his balls, and instead circles a finger around his entrance. It has Thancred freezing in place, trembling with want and with himself at war with himself because _oh_ he had meant something completely different, but now the thought of _that_ is in his head and it quickly consumes him.

Teasingly, Kythelle presses against his entrance, the tip of a finger just about to breach, before he pulls it back, stroking his hand along Thancred’s thigh. His smirk is dripping lasciviously, sending shocks of deep, dark pleasure straight to Thancred’s cock and a place inside of him that _desperately_ needs to be touched now that it’s been awakened.

Still, Thancred tries, “You — that was a dirty trick.”

“Was it?”

“Yes! Because now all I can think about is—” Thancred feels his face heat, shuts himself up quickly and looks down, which is a mistake. His cock is starting to ache painfully, desperate for release and glistening in the faint light from the amount of precum that has leaked from it.

“Don’t stop there, Thancred. Tell me: what is it that preoccupies your thoughts now?”

Those fingers are back, slick now and Thancred nearly starts because _when did he do that_. They tease at his entrance, never dipping into him even though the thought of them pressing into him, opening him up and leaving him wanting and begging and _needing_ more is consuming him.

“You… you should know…” He can’t look at Kythelle. He whimpers — actually _whimpers_ — as those fingers continue to tease him. “Ah… Kythelle, _please_.”

“Please? Please _what_?”

_By the Twelve_ , Thancred knows that he is bound to lose this war. He’s too needy, too desperate to last. Already, his body betrays whatever little is left of his resolve, rolling into Kythelle’s gentle explorations and trying so desperately to catch his fingers so that they might press into him and relieve him of the ache that burns inside of him. _Just this once_ , Thancred tells himself, _let go just this once_.

He swallows, throat dry and a sharp lump lodged there, “ _Please_ , Kythelle. I… I need you to…”

_Where’s his nerve when he needs it?_

Kythelle’s looking up at him, pale eyes glowing in the faint light. His face is primal, dark and full of a need that Thancred yearns to answer — pupils blown wide, ears flat against his head. The words slip out, slowly but surely.

“It’s not enough,” Thancred murmurs. “I need… I need your fingers inside me. I need them _in_ me, Kythelle, please. Even… even then… I want… I want… I want _more_.”

“Mm, you sound so lovely when you beg,” Kythelle says, voice rumbling in his chest. Yet, he does _exactly_ what Thancred asked of him: two fingers pushing up against and breaching the muscle of his entrance. “Does that feel good, Thancred?”

“ _Yes_ …” Thancred draws the word out into a hiss. His hips are already moving to meet Kythelle, pushing his fingers further and deeper into him. The feeling is strange and alien, the stretch feels strange but wholly pleasurable; even before the discomfort fades completely, he’s rolling his hips to match the rhythm that Kythelle starts. “Yes, that’s… that’s what I want.”

“Rhalgar’s flaming — you’re _tight_ , Thancred.”

He laughs, brokenly and breathlessly at Kythelle’s aborted curse, “But… but it feels good for you, doesn’t it? Think about how it will feel when your cock’s inside of me.”

He had absolutely not planned to say that.

It’s _Kythelle’s_ turn to make a broken, low moan. The sound goes straight to Thancred’s cock, has him trembling and wanting and _fuck_ but he really needs Kythelle to… to do something. To do _more_. Twelve, he put the words out there, put that inevitably into reality; he’d known what Kythelle wanted to hear from him, wanted him to beg to be taken, to feel him press his cock into him and open him to a world he’d not stepped into before.

“Already thinking about my cock inside of you, hm?” Kythelle still sounds more than a little breathless, but he also presses in a third finger. He curls them just so and — Thancred sees stars. “There we are.”

“Do that again. _Please_.”

Kythelle obliges and Thancred’s hips arch up off the floor. It’s so _painful_ now, the need for release and he’s broken and wanting, the only thought in his head that he needs Kythelle inside of him. And that he needs to cum that instant.

“One day,” Kythelle says, pulling his fingers free to slick his own cock — he’s only undone the fastenings of his own trousers enough to free his own cock from his smalls. “I will make you cum from touching there alone. Until yours legs are too weak for you to walk for the next several days.”

Thancred can only make a weak little mewl in response, legs spasming because _oh that sounds delightful yes let’s do that_. Anything to keep this feeling of absolute ecstasy. The burn inside of him intensifies because _finally_ he gets a good sight of Kythelle’s cock and _oh_ but it’s more than he could have imagined.

Longer and thicker than his own, Thancred can’t help but tremble in burning anticipation. True, it’s perhaps only impressive by hyur and miqo’te standards, but for him — who has never taken a cock before — it’s a little intimidating, but does not stop the absolute _want_ pulsing through him, hot and bright and pounding against his ribs with his heart.

“You… are absolutely going to ruin me,” Thancred manages, trying and failing to bite back the moan as Kythelle pushes the head of his cock into him.

For a brief terrifying second, he doesn’t think it will fit, that he will simply break on Kythelle’s cock. It passes quickly. Much as the way that Kythelle thrusts into him the first time; using gravity to his advantage, tugging Thancred up and into his lap, causing him to sink down on Kythelle’s cock until it’s buried him to the root.

Bright pleasure bursts along his nerves and he expects it to end there, but no no it keeps _coming_ until he’s crying out sharply. Familiar white lights burst behind his eyes, his own cock spasming between them, spurting out a surprisingly copious amount of his seed — much more than Thancred expected from a second orgasm. It stains the front of his shirt and Kythelle’s shirt as well.

“… _oh_.” Thancred thinks it’s cheating and unfair, that Kythelle removed the binding spell when he did. Yet, he’s too relaxed and sated to much care. Though, he’s very keenly aware that Kythelle is still rock-hard to the hilt inside of him. He rolls his hips — he only knows that it felt good for him when his partner’s moved, clenches down and stars burst behind his eyes. _Too much too much not enough_.

“Mm,” Kythelle moans a little, already moving to pin Thancred to the ground. “I do rather like the idea of you fucking yourself senseless on my cock, now that I think of it.”

“… you… you…”

Kythelle grins, hands angling Thancred’s hips _just so_ and his cock’s dragging along his prostate with each thrust, “Like the thought of that, do you? You turn such a pretty color, Thancred, when you’re aroused. Does the thought of taking my cock — fucking yourself on it till you’re satiated — please you? You would look lovely, I bet, flushed and wanting and desperate for release, but not wanting it _quite_ yet. You would deny yourself, wouldn’t you, till you felt my seed fill you… isn’t that right?”

He wasn’t aware that Kythelle had released _both_ binding spells. But Thancred has to clap both of his hands over his mouth, because _fuck_ that is quite the fantasy that Kythelle paints; already, the thought of it fills his mind, and his hips stutter in their rhythm, trying to keep up with the pace that Kythelle sets with his thrusts. He can actually already _feel_ another orgasm rising in him, his body twitching and clenching around Kythelle’s cock — _yes yes he needs this_.

“ _Shit_.” Kythelle ducks his head, “You’re so _tight_ , Thancred.”

“All the… all the better to… ah… milk you, as they… as they say… right?”

He rather wishes that he could shove his entire fist into his mouth, just to keep himself from saying anything more embarrassing than that. But it’s _true_. He knows he’s tight, that he’s clenched down on Kythelle’s cock to what could be the brink of pain; his body and being focused on one thing and one thing alone: that Kythelle fill him with his seed.

“You are… very good, Thancred,” Kythelle manages, panting heavily. His thrusts are more erratic. He’s close. “Your body is just _desperate_ , isn’t… isn’t it?”

“Kythelle, please…!”

There’s a twisted growl in Kythelle’s throat. The sound goes straight through Thancred, who arches up and nearly chokes on his own cry of completion. His vision’s going a little dark and fuzzy at the edges; he might have pushed himself a little too far but _oh_ he finds he doesn’t care.

Kythelle lets out a gutteral noise of his own, face buried in Thancred’s shoulder. He buries his cock to the hilt inside Thancred, pushing right up against his prostate — and Thancred’s mewling brokenly at that, _how embarrassing_ — and he can actually _feel_ Kythelle spilling inside of him. It satiates him in a way nothing else has, his body humming with pleasure and a feeling of contentedness that he has not felt for a long while.

It feels… too good to let him go now, Thancred thinks. But his limbs are too heavy and won’t respond to him well enough for him to try and wrap them around Kythelle. Thus, when Kythelle’s softened cock slips free of him — which results in a trickling of fluid to come out of him as well — he makes a soft noise of displeasure, but is too weak to do anything else about it.

Kythelle’s nuzzling up under his chin, murmuring soft words of praise and encouragement. His hands are stroking along Thancred’s trembling sides, up under his tunic and it feels good, feels _right_ , and Thancred feels content and at peace enough to let himself drift a little.

Yet, he has enough energy yet to chase down a kiss when Kythelle brushes his lips against his.

“Rest, Thancred,” he says quietly. “We won’t be missed yet.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** Role Reversal  
>  **Words:** 7934 words
> 
> -sips drink- You're welcome.


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